o to a damp,
half-completed hotel, without a shrub about it--only a stretch of
desolate sand with the tide going in and out?" There was a tone of
suspicion in Jane's voice that Lucy had never heard from her sister's
lips--never, in all her life.

"Oh, because I love the tides, if nothing else," she answered with a
sentimental note in her voice. "Every six hours they bring me a new
message. I could spend whole mornings watching the tides come and go.
During my long exile you don't know how I dreamed every night of the
dear tides of Barnegat. If you had been away from all you love as many
years as I have, you would understand how I could revel in the sound of
the old breakers."

For some moments Jane did not answer. She knew from the tones of Lucy's
voice and from the way she spoke that she did not mean it. She had
heard her talk that way to some of the villagers when she wanted to
impress them, but she had never spoken in the same way to her.

"You have some other reason, Lucy. Is it Max?" she asked in a strained
tone.

Lucy colored. She had not given her sister credit for so keen an
insight into the situation. Jane's mind was evidently working in a new
direction. She determined to face the suspicion squarely; the truth
under some conditions is better than a lie.

"Yes," she replied, with an assumed humility and with a tone as if she
had been detected in a fault and wanted to make a clean breast of it.
"Yes--now that you have guessed it--it IS Max."

"Don't you think it would be better to see him here instead of at the
hotel?" exclaimed Jane, her eyes still boring into Lucy's.

"Perhaps"--the answer came in a helpless way--"but that won't do much
good. I want to keep my promise to him if I can."

"What was your promise?" Jane's eyes lost their searching look for an
instant, but the tone of suspicion still vibrated.

Lucy hesitated and began playing with the trimming on her dress.

"Well, to tell you the truth, dear, a few days ago in a burst of
generosity I got myself into something of a scrape. Max wants his
sister Sue to spend the summer with him, and I very foolishly promised
to chaperon her. She is delighted over the prospect, for she must have
somebody, and I haven't the heart to disappoint her. Max has been so
kind to me that I hate now to tell him I can't go. That's all, dear. I
don't like to speak of obligations of this sort, and so at first I only
told you half the truth."

"You should always keep